


Maybe You Should Keep A Dream Journal?

by thepetulantpen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Already posted on my tumblr, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Vague Spoilers, as usual, but it’s super brief, mention of beauyasha, others have like one line - Freeform, tracy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen
Summary: Molly and Beau talk about dreams.(I ran out of ideas for the title but it’s exactly what the summary says)





	Maybe You Should Keep A Dream Journal?

“I don’t have like any dreams at night, you guys. Is that worrisome?”

Molly invades the conversation to provide Beau with that unnerving stare of his, solid, red eyes with no expression, independent of any emotion that reads plainly across his other features. 

“Yes, of course it is. Everyone dreams, Beau.”

Beau pouts in a way that should read as “petulant toddler” but instead comes across as a vague threat on his life. 

“Oh yeah? Well, what do you dream about?” 

Molly is quiet for a moment. Blood and fiends and werewolves and words he doesn’t understand flash across his mind in an instant, a foreign grin on his own face, a serious of slashes from someone he can’t see and a suffocating wall of dirt press themselves forcefully back into his head from the deep recesses of his mind he’s shoved them to. But nothing shows in those red ink eyes and Molly grins, ready to stir up some trouble. 

“I dream of the future, of course.”

Beau groans immediately, Caduceus gives him a knowing little smile, Yasha tries to look amused but seems preoccupied and Fjord, well, Fjord seems to be trying to remove himself from this conversation. 

“When have you ever actually predicted the future?” Beau should know better than to argue, at this point, but it’s in her nature. 

“I’m offended you haven’t been paying enough attention to my wonderful gifts of foresight. Frankly, Beau, I’m shocked, I thought we were friends and yet you can’t even appreciate my supernatural abilities-“ 

“No, but really, have you ever told the future?” Fjord, ever believing, ever faithful. The circus would’ve made a killing with him as a costumer, poor guy does not know what he’s gotten himself into with this arcane business. 

“Of course I’ve told the future. In fact, I’ve done it so many times I’m struggling to think of a singular moment-“ 

“Bull-shit!” 

“Patience, my lovely, unpleasant skeptic,” Molly pauses once, perhaps for effect or perhaps to buy time, “I predicted my death, remember?”

He feels bad as soon as he says it, Yasha turns away a bit, the subject still a sore spot for her. Beau, luckily, distracts. 

“No, you said ‘we’re all going to die’ and only you died so you didn’t even get it right!”

“Semantics. Besides, I also predicted Jester’s father.” 

“What?” Jester pipes up now, no longer content to just watch the back and forth, “No, you didn’t! You were just as surprised as the rest of us.” 

“Ah, but, you see, I actually knew all along. Remember what I told you, at the beginning? You already have the clue you need? We had already stolen the Gentleman’s letter. I just thought it would be more fun to let you figure it out yourself. Didn’t think it would take so long but hey, it’s about the journey not the destination right?” 

Jester looks genuinely stunned, more so than when she found out about her dad. 

“Oh my gods. Guys! Molly is actually a psychic!” 

Molly sits back and watches the rest of the conversation unfold, Beau’s continued, and well-founded, skepticism and Jester’s impossibly ill-advised optimism butting heads as the rest of the group avoids taking sides in the hilarious conflict. Yasha seems relieved at the change of subject from her mysterious dreams, Fjord looks like he’s probably glad he didn’t get asked about his dreams and Caduceus is, as always, happy as can be, seemingly satisfied with any turn of events. 

...

Beau wakes up in a cold sweat that night. 

They’re all piled into the wonderful, lush hotel room Marion provided, choosing to room all together and have a party rather than be a bit more comfortable in separate rooms. Her sudden movement to sit up straight shifts the squishy, super soft bedding beneath her, almost making her lose her balance. She looks around the room to make sure she didn’t wake anyone with her embarrassing display and lands on a pair of glowing, solid red eyes. 

Shit. 

It’s the middle of the night and very, very dark but even Beau can see Molly’s bright, utterly delighted grin. 

“Did you have your first dream?” Molly stage whispers from his spot on the floor.

Beau frowns, considering her options, before slowly sliding off the bed to get closer and keep this conversation quiet. And to be close enough to threaten. If she needs to. When she wants to. 

“Yeah, whatever. Why’re you up? You have another riveting dream about the future?” 

“No.” Molly’s grin dampens to only a normal level of smile, what passes as a sad expression for him. 

“Oh.” 

They lapse into silence for the count of nine until Molly, as always, breaks it up. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what dreadful first dream managed to wake you? Perhaps I can tell you what it means for your future.” 

“No. Do you want to talk about yours?”

“No. But I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” Molly smiles like he’s trying to sell her a bargain cart that’s probably broken but damn if she doesn’t want to take that chance anyway. 

“Fuck. You know I can’t resist a gamble like that. Fine.” 

Beau leans back and lets out a long sigh, immediate regret and subsequent determination taking her. 

“Look, just... don’t laugh, ok?”

“Of course, Beau.” 

Molly has stopped smiling which is a fairly alien expression for Beau to see on his face. She so used to that stupidly big, shit-eating grin that the solemn look he’s adopted is appreciated but surprising. 

“I dreamt about Tracy.” 

A smirk and barely suppressed giggle break the serious atmosphere that only managed to survive a minute before Circus Man here fucked it up. 

“Fuck you man, I didn’t even get to finish before you’re laughing at me.” 

“No, no I didn’t laugh I swear. I just... wasn’t expecting that. Continue, please.” 

Beau huffs again but resigns herself to this, stealing herself with the knowledge that it’ll be Molly’s turn afterwards. 

“I dreamt that like, I was actually Tracy or maybe Tracy was taking my place and it... I dunno it brings up a lot of memories and gets me thinking, I mean maybe I was supposed to be like that, you know? Maybe I am deep down but I’m just so stuck in my ways that I never like, explored it. I could’ve... I could’ve not been me. Not been an asshole.” 

She sighs and Molly just regards her quietly, eyes not betraying any of his thoughts and mouth set in a neutral line. 

“I don’t know if maybe being Tracy could’ve made life a little easier. I feel like I need to work to be nicer but I’m not sure if that’s sacrificing who I am. I’ve kind of built up the asshole thing? Or maybe that’s just how I am. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” 

Molly leans against her lightly, testing the waters for physical contact, and Beau allows it, letting the feeling of Molly’s dumb satin coat ground her. 

“Nothing is set in stone, Beau. Be who you want to be. Nobody decreed you to be a Tracy or an asshole at birth. Most people are a mix of both. You’re a mix of both, even if you don’t realize it. Besides,” Molly dramatically looks around as if he’s about to gossip about somebody, “I think Tracy is a bit of an airhead. I prefer Beau, she’s a better brand of dumbass.” 

“Aw, that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” It’s hard to tell if Beau’s shark-like grin is supposed to be scary or genuine but she pauses in thought and finishes, “But seriously. Thanks Molly.” 

“Anytime.” Molly hums contently and leans back, getting comfortable in his spot on the wall again. 

No way is he getting out of this one.

“Time for your end of the bargain, Molly. What did you dream about?” 

“Aren’t you tired of talking about dreams yet?” 

“I could stay up all night to talk about dreams. Spill. It.”

Molly‘s face is not jovial or mischievous or even serious as a dark shadow falls over it. It’s unnatural to see a deep frown on Molly’s face, though it does fit, weirdly, making the normally friendly face into an ominous mask of hard lines and unhappy angles. 

“Well, I just have, you know, normal, wack nightmares. Blood, darkness, the works.” 

“Molly.”

He refuses to look at her, even when she pushes her face near his. Stubborn bastard. 

“Molly, we’ve been traveling together for weeks. I spilled my shit, tell me about yours.” 

Nothing. Silence, face totally still. 

“Molly?”

Beau pokes him, trying to get him to budge, get him to blink, get him to move his face at all. 

“Molly! Come on. I just want to help.” 

She pokes him again, having no shame in acting like an annoying younger sibling to get what she wants. 

“It’s Lucien, ok? They’re all about Lucien. Every damn dream.” His voice is frustrated but a little relieved in the sort of rushed tone you get when you start to overshare information and just keep tumbling down that hill, eager to get shit off your chest. 

Didn’t actually expect him to respond so fast. Beau supposes she shouldn’t have poked the bear if she wasn’t ready to actually deal with it. 

“It’s like a ghost in my head. I just wish it would go away.” 

“Maybe you need to finally put it to rest. If we find out who he was-“

“No.” Molly’s face hasn’t changed except to stare at her, giving her the full force of blood red, empty eyes. 

“Alright, alright. I’m just spit-balling here. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me what’s the worst that could happen by investigating blood magic bullshit.” 

“That’s fair.”

“Listen, I... appreciate the offer. I’ll think about it.”

Molly’s face softens, like he’s coming out of a bad dream, and the mask breaks apart, revealing a familiar, cheerful expression. Beau can’t believe this is the guy who clawed his way out of a grave and has to deal with the remnants of a life he didn’t even live. She’s sure she can’t imagine what those dreams are really like, what waking up in a grave does to you, but she hopes she can help. Somehow. 

“Hey, Molly?”

“Yes, Unpleasant One?”

“As long as I’m alive and still punching, you’ll never end up in a grave again. Or killed by weird blood magic. Or by creepy blood people or slavers or monsters. Me and Yasha and the rest of the Nein has your back, no matter what you decide to do, got it?” 

Molly looks either stunned and slightly horrified or super touched and honored at her sudden declaration but it’s impossible to say which in the dim light. 

“And I’m sorry. About what I said before. Before, uh... well, before.” 

Molly throws his arm around her like he would if they were doing a pub crawl, swinging around town drunk or high, seeing fireworks and ghosts. He likely estimates it to be the closest to a hug he can risk without losing a limb. 

“Thanks, Beau.” 

Beau smiles, a rare, genuine beast that is totally average, just like everyone else’s smile, but inspiring nonetheless. She settles on the blankets in the floor near him, unwilling to get up and chance waking people again. 

Beau dreams of Yasha flying away with her on angel wings, through clouds and a beautiful pink sunset. She decides against sharing that one. 

Molly has a blessedly dreamless sleep, waking not in dirt or covered in blood but with a soft blanket and the heavy, drowsy warmth of a good night’s rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the group’s convo about dreams and I wanted Molly in there so I wrote it! Turned out way longer than I thought so I put it up here. Hope you like it!


End file.
